Near tears, Hannah stared at her. “What in the Lord’s name is wrong with the villagers? What’s gotten into them?”
Violet looked a little bit guilty, rubbing her forehead and leaving a smear of soot. “Oh. I… I mean, what were they doing?”
“Violet Leon, I can tell from the look on yer face that ye ken good and well what’s going on.”
Hannah heard heavy footsteps behind her, and she whipped around, raising the bottle she had just now realized was still in her hand as if she was going to knock the intruder out.
“Oy! Hannah!” Duncan held up his hands. “I didnae come to harm ye.” He laughed as she lowered the bottle. “Ye’re a right menace when ye want to be.”
She put the bottle down on the table and rubbed her hands over her face. “Och. Sorry, Duncan.”
“Ye’re forgiven… but perhaps ye shouldnae be apologizing to me yet.”
“What does that mean?” Hannah was beginning to feel like everyone knew what was going on around her except herself.
“Most of the orders from the distillery have been withdrawn.”
“How do ye ken that? Why?” she demanded, her voice pitching higher than she’d ever heard it and cracking.
“Heard talk at the tavern,” he said apologetically. “The villagers, at least, are going to withdraw their orders. I daenae ken how many outside our village.”
Hannah felt her heart just about stop. Absolutely frozen in place, her jaw hanging loose, her legs going numb. She had to put in a great effort to remember how to breathe again, but that didn’t keep her knees from buckling.
“Hey, hey!” Duncan jumped forward and caught her about the waist, before moving her to a chair at the table and lowering her into it. “Hannah!”
“Why?” she choked out, trying very hard not to faint straight off her seat.
Duncan kept a hand on her shoulder, looking concerned. “Oh, Hannah.”
“Why?” she nearly shouted at him.
“They…” He hesitated, and at her sharp look, he took a breath and continued speaking. “They daenae want to buy things from ‘the Laird’s wench.’”
“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched high again, cracked again. Tears pricked her eyes. “They saidwhat?”
“They… they said he’s only helping us because… well…” he trailed off.
Hannah grabbed his collar, yanking him down to her eye level. “Duncan, if ye daenae spit it out?—”
“They think ye’ve been whoring yerself out to him in exchange for his help. They’re disgusted by ye both.” It all came out in a rush.
“What gave them that idea?” she demanded, though she let go of the poor man’s tunic.
His eyes darted to Violet.
Hannah pressed her lips together so hard they must have vanished from sight and turned her head to her little sister. “Violet.”
Violet looked like she was considering whether she was fast enough to make it past her and out the door again. Hannah returned that look with one that suggested that if she moved a muscle, she was going to full-body tackle her.
“Ye didnae come back yesterday,” Violet managed to say.
“And what does that have to do with anything?” Hannah was beginning to feel like she might be losing her mind. She wanted to wake up in the bed she’d been enjoying a few hours ago and realize this was just a wild dream.
“I went to town,” Violet mumbled to her toes.
“Ye both seem to be giving this story in bits and pieces.” Hannah pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling a throbbing behind her eyes. “For both of yer sakes, spit it out.”
Violet peeked up with that guilty look again, the one she usually wore when she’d knocked over a milk pail or dropped a basket of eggs. Or perhaps the one she’d worn once when she’d dropped a full cask of whiskey and cracked it. “I told the people at the well that ye’d gone to the Laird’s castle for the third time in as many weeks, and ye hadnae come back this time.”
